Pandas are Black and White
by carroussella
Summary: Guns, rifles, the occasional bomb… those didn't faze him one bit. Why should this be any different? Spoilers for 1x13 "Between Heartbeats", 2x01 "Business As Usual", 2x09 "Exit Wounds". Warning: FLUFF AHEAD.


**Fandom:** Flashpoint**  
>Pairing:<strong> Sam/Jules  
><strong>Category:<strong> Fluff, Romance  
><strong>Rating:<strong> K+_  
><strong>ONE-SHOT<strong>_

**Disclaimer: **Sam Braddock is mine. Not. (Although I really wish he was)

**Synopsis: **Guns, rifles, the occasional bomb… those didn't faze him one bit. Why should this be any different? Spoilers for 1x13 "Between Heartbeats", 2x01 "Business As Usual", 2x09 "Exit Wounds"

**Author's Note:** I'm attempting fluff. Like full-on fluff. Makes you wanna cuddle up and hug someone fluff. I can't believe it either, and I think this is a total fluff failure. So… go gentle with me, okay?

* * *

><p><em>One… two… three… <em>

Sam Braddock mentally counted as the numbers on the elevator screen crept up. He was nervous; his palms were sweaty and his breathing shallow. He could feel the adrenaline rush, the excitement building up.

There was a quiet buzz around him; the other occupants of the elevator were talking amongst themselves in hushed tones. Occasionally they would shoot curious glances at him, eyeing the package in his hands warily.

He was a sight for sore eyes; he knew that even without looking into a mirror. He hadn't slept more than four hours in the past three days – that's what back-to-back shifts will do to you. He couldn't remember the last time he shaved or combed his hair.

Sam wasn't quite sure why he was so anxious. He handled dangerous objects all the time, for crying out loud. Guns, rifles, the occasional bomb… those didn't faze him one bit. Why should this be any different?

The elevator came to a stop at his floor, and he took a deep breath before stepping out. _Here goes…_

He made his way slowly but surely along the corridor, having already memorized the route by heart. It wasn't difficult; just walk straight to the last door on the right. He'd made this trek many times before, but somehow, this time was different.

Pausing before the intended door, he snuck a peek into the room through the window. A little knowledge was always a good thing, and knowing what awaited behind those closed doors never hurt. He didn't like surprises.

He took another deep breath. Positioning his boot against the door, he mentally counted to three before applying pressure and kicking it open forcefully.

"Surprise!"

Jules screamed as he burst in, clutching the covers close to her chest. Once she calmed down enough to ascertain that it was just him, she started yelling.

"What the hell was that for, Sam?"

Sam was bewildered. "What? I just wanted to surprise you." He held out the package in his hands like a proud child presenting his finest creation to his parents for approval. "I got you a present."

Still disgruntled, Jules eyed his hastily-wrapped gift with apprehension. "That isn't going to blow up in my face the moment I open it, is it?"

"Yeah Jules, I'm friends with Spike, remember?"

Jules glared at him. "If it's one of those Jack-in-the-box pop-up crap, you're gonna be dead faster than you can say 'Scorpio'."

Without saying anything, Sam let out a rush of breath and ran his fingers through his hair as he settled on the edge of her bed. Anything he said would annoy her further, so he simply opted for silence.

But his action only caused Jules to shriek again. "GET OFF MY BED!"

He jumped off immediately, wondering what was on the bed that had Jules so riled up. "What?"

"You. Are. Sitting. On. My. Bed." Jules bit out each word, her tone dangerously low.

"So I am. So what?" His rookie swagger was back, and he arched a cocky brow at her.

"Sam Braddock, you are still wearing your cool pants, which are probably not-so-cool right now because I bet they haven't been washed in forty-eight hours," Jules shot him another glare. "So you and dirty pants can go sit anywhere BUT my bed."

He held up his hands in surrender, all the bluster gone from him. "Okay, okay." He retreated backwards until his knees hit the chair, then he sank down into the plastic device, grateful to be able to rest his weary feet.

The moment he was settled, Jules turned her attention to the package he had brought. She brought it closer to her face, inspecting the haphazard newspaper wrapping.

He'd gotten off shift barely an hour ago, and he had broken nearly every speed limit on the way to the mall so he could get her a gift before it closed. He had been so happy with his purchase that he hadn't remembered to get it wrapped until he was at his bike. By the time he raced back into the mall, the only salesman who would give him the time of the day was the old geezer manning the lone newspaper booth.

Sam supposed he could have gone without wrapping – _after all, it was the thought that counted, not the paper it was wrapped in, right?_ – but he knew how fixated Jules was on little things like that. He suspected that she enjoyed the unwrapping more than the actual gift itself.

Jules had wrinkled her nose, her distaste for his choice of wrapping paper evident. "Should I even begin to ask?"

"It's a _present_, Jules."

She turned the package around in her hand, still studying it. "Doesn't look much like one from where I'm sitting."

"Are you gonna open it or not?" Now he was getting frustrated. _What was it with women and dragging out the opening of presents?_ He would have ripped the damned paper apart by now.

Jules lifted one end of the wrapper delicately, gingerly peeling off the tape. She kept going until she had it all removed, and when the gift – the one he spent ten minutes debating over – was finally exposed to her gaze, she simply leaned back against her pillows and stared at it.

Sam leaned forward eagerly, resting his chin on his hands as he propped his elbows on his knees. "Do you like it? You wanted bunny slippers and I - "

"They're not bunnies, Sam."

He frowned. "'Cos they are."

Jules brought her eyes to meet his, the brown orbs flickering with what Sam belatedly realized was close to irritation. "They. Are. Not. Bunnies."

Sam got out of his chair, reaching forward for one of the slippers. He brought the fuzzy thing close to his face, almost inhaling a ball of fur as one of the ears touched his nose.

He frowned. "They're pink."

"Are all pink animals bunnies?"

Her tone warned him that his life depended on his next words, so he hemmed and hawed. "Erm… Well… That's… Erm…"

Jules leaned forward, putting her face close to his. But this wasn't her "come and kiss me" face; it was her "I'm in your face so you better give me answers" face. He'd seen her use it on plenty of subjects before.

He gulped.

She repeated her question.

"I – I don't know?"

Jules let out a hiss. "I asked for bunny slippers, Sam."

"And… I got you bunny slippers?" He offered a sheepish smile.

"These are pandas, Sam."

"They're pink." _Didn't everyone know that pandas were black and white?_

"I'm glad you can tell."

"So… what's the problem?" He was getting confused. The store had been full of colorful slippers, some of them looked terrible and he could barely make out what sort of animals they were supposed to be.

He had picked this particular pair because one, they were the only pink pair; two, they looked remotely like rabbits; and three, he was pretty sure that they didn't make pink lion slippers. That was just wrong.

It was a safe bet… or so he thought.

"The problem is," Jules sighed. "_These_ are not bunnies."

"They sure look like bunnies to me," he told her honestly. He studied the slipper in his hand again, turning it around to look at it from different angles. It didn't look any different from when he saw it in the store, and he could've sworn then that it was a bunny.

"They're pandas, Sam. _Pandas_." She sounded dismayed.

"Whatever you say, Jules," he shrugged, moving closer to her. He settled on the bed, his hand on her knee, but she was still pre-occupied with her slippers and didn't notice that his cool pants were dirtying her sheets.

She looked up, intent on giving him another smart-assed retort, but he stopped her. "Just shut up and kiss me, Jules," he ordered, capturing her lips without giving her a chance to reply. She resisted at first, still wanting to have her say, but the protest died within seconds and then her tongue was touching his.

Sam cradled her head in his hand, pulling her even closer to him, wanting more of her. Her taste intoxicated him, and it was the memory of her taste that kept his energy up after work. He had been waiting for this moment the entire day, and he didn't want to waste time debating about what kind of animals her slippers were.

He just wanted to kiss his girlfriend silly.

He had missed her while at work; missed her trading quick barbs with Ed or telling Spike some bad jokes. The team wasn't the same without her, and he felt her absence even more acutely with the addition of Donna as her temporary replacement.

Sam felt Jules wrap her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his short crop. Her ministrations were driving him crazy, and he deepened the kiss, nibbling on her lower lip as she moaned. She was losing control, as was he; Jules smelled like sweet lavender, and he was losing himself in her scent.

He trailed a line of kisses from the corner of her mouth to her earlobe, and she turned her head to the side to give him better access. He kissed her neck before moving back up to her earlobe, tugging on it with his teeth.

He broke the kiss and leaned back, still staring intently at her flushed face. Her breathing was ragged, and she was still writhing under him. Sam felt a burst of masculine pride that the mighty Julianna Callaghan turned putty in his hands.

A smile ghosted over his lips at this small victory as he brought his lips to her ear again. "I still think they're bunnies."

He heard her snort indelicately as she pulled him back down and her lips met his again. "Just shut up and kiss me, Sam."

He was never so glad to agree with her.


End file.
